


Broken Hearts

by Allronix



Series: Heroes of the Eclipse [4]
Category: The Wizard of Oz & Related Fandoms, Tin Man (2007)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canon - Book, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, Found Family, Gen, Gen Fic, Original Flavor, Telepathic Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29576727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allronix/pseuds/Allronix
Summary: Almost a century ago, the Heroes of Oz; Dorothy Gale, the Scarecrow, Nicholas Chopper the Tin Woodsman, and Lion battled an abomination called the Kolas that preyed on sentient life. They were able to defeat the Kolas, but at the cost of one of their own.A month after the Eclipse, Raw summons the others to the Viewer enclave. He has news of a more personal nature to deliver, news his human friends may not be able to understand.  His people also must decide whether to rejoin Ozian society after their numbers have been ravaged by the Witch's hunts. The thinning of their numbers has also caused the Kolas to regain enough strength to return and start its hunt anew.It's up to the Heroes of the Eclipse to succeed where their predecessors failed - or die trying.
Relationships: Dorothy Gale/Princess Ozma
Series: Heroes of the Eclipse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813891
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The universe that it was based on belong to the estate of L. F. Baum. Tin Man and its respective characters belong to Misters Long and Van Sickle. Other concepts can be credited to G. Maguire. The only thing you may credit me with is being crazy enough to try and put them together.

In the Merry Old Land of Oz, no one ever died or aged. The fields were always rich and green and the heroes always won.

The Merry Old Land only existed in the stories told to the wide-eyed children of the Outer Zone. The truth was that crops failed and men aged at the same rate of any other land, and even heroes could die.

* * *

_Ninety Annuals Ago...._

“Dorothy, stay back!” Scarecrow pulled her back, straw flying out of his sleeve with the swiftness of his movement. 

The Kolas howled with fury, its blue-black fur bristling and its jaw gaping to reveal sharp teeth still coated in red from its last victim.

The strongest fighters stood in front, broad-axe and claws at the ready. The moon's light danced off the creature's thick horns and the vicious row of spikes down its back. It lashed out, striking the Lion in the side with its tail. The Lion was able to leap out of the way for the brunt of it, but the spikes on the edge of that tail caught him in the rump and he rolled end over end through the dried leaves.

Dorothy tapped the buckle on the Magic Belt, her hands starting to glow green. The tales said it could grant any wish. What it really did was augment and amplify any magical abilities its wearer may have had. Dorothy had been shocked to learn she could do much with it at all. She let loose, firing emerald green bolts of power at the creature. It howled with pain and staggered back. “Gonna take a lot more 'an a bucket of water to git this thing under control,” she said, her thick prairie accent coming through as it did under stress or exhaustion.

Scarecrow couldn't help a dark chuckle. Dorothy's gift for understatement only grew as she did.

The Lion sprang up with a loud roar and tried to pounce the creature only to get pummeled back, knocked painfully into the spikes jutting up from monster's spine.

“Scarecrow, draw your sword. Keep this thing from Dorothy!” Nick was shouting as he raised his axe and aimed for the creature's side. The blow only seemed to infuriate it, the blade meeting thick hide.

He didn't need to be told twice. While the Regent's blade at his hip was mostly ceremonial, it was bladed and weighted for combat. Somehow, he knew ruefully that this wasn't going to be much help. Being made primarily of straw, paper bills, and cloth, he would be hard to hurt, at least. Drawing the weapon, he stood between the Dorothy and the beast, holding ground as best he could, dancing out of the way of the hits and taunting it to get it looking for him.

On they fought, blows traded and magic fired. The behemoth was surprisingly fast, scattering them as it charged. On one of the attacks, the Scarecrow did not move out of the way fast enough, and those claws caught him, raking him from left shoulder to right hip. He thought he heard Dorothy shriek as she dove for him. He could only stare in shock...and yes, _pain_ as he struggled to keep his stuffing inside him, keep himself from bleeding to death.

Nick shouted, “Dorothy, stay with him!”

Down to two, the battle went further into the woods. Lion was bleeding now, wearying, trying to catch his breath after inflicting wounds with claws and even with his fangs. However, tin feels no fatigue, and the former woodcutter always did have a certain pride in his enhanced endurance. It was really the only pride he could take, given the horrific circumstances that confined his soul to this metal body.

The blue-black fur of the beast was stained green with ichors, speaking to its unnatural origin as an abomination cooked up by the very hag who took his life away from him. Nick could love all innocent creatures, from the smallest insect to Ozma herself, but he could hate the guilty with the same passion, let it grant him strength to keep fighting, though he knew this battle would be lost. 

He swung his axe, gouging another hole in its side. For Nimmie-Amee, that beautiful girl he was going to marry. Well, she did marry part of him…

The beast lashed out and caught his left leg – the first part of him that was lost to the curse.

For Ku-Klip, and his backhanded “gift” of metal for lost limbs, tik-tok for destroyed organs, lubricants to replace blood. Too late realizing he had been working for the Witch all along. Now mayor of Milltown and creator of its citizens; fusions of flesh and tik-tok.

Standing on the ruins of his shattered leg, Nick kept fighting, trading blows with this beast until his body and heart were numb from the pain. He would stand. He would endure this and keep fighting. Think of the land and its people.

Think of Lion, fighting at his side, of the constant battle he waged with fear and sensory overload...

Think of Scarecrow, his dear friend with too many brains for a straw head and all the wonderful, horrible things they had encountered in their adventures...

Think of Dorothy. Think of the heir she and Ozma...

He raised that axe again and again, not knowing how he was able to do it.

The Lion gained his second wind and set upon the beast, tearing flesh his own blood mixing with that of the creature. It was weakening, but still ready to fight to the last, taking them with it. With a bone chilling howl of rage, the monstrosity looked up at Nick and its maw grew wide, giving the Lion the opening he needed to summon his strength and courage, leaping on the monster's back again and choking down the pain from the wounds it inflicted. Lion sunk his teeth into the creature's neck—the only place on the spine not covered in plated spikes.

It reared back and roared in pain, bucking off Lion and raising a massive paw to deliver a killing strike. As the blow was about to land, a bolt of bright green energy slammed into it. Dorothy had re-joined the fight. Summoning all the power she could muster, she covered her abdomen with one arm, gripping the belt, and the other built up a glow of bright emerald energy.

The creature turned away from Lion and crouched low, springing for Dorothy in a leap. She raised her hand, full of blinding green power, but there would not be enough time...

With a swiftness Nick thought he could no longer manage, he put his body between the creature and Dorothy, axe held outward to strike. The axe caught it in the chest, foul ichor spilling from the wound. Nick and the monster fell together, tumbling in a knot of enchanted blood, bolts, and lubricant. Blows exchanged and parts flew. It became a blur of metal and flesh, obscured by darkness as they rolled some distance away from the others, too far to reach.

The others could only look on in horror as something silver gray, like wind, was pulled from the Tin Man's body into the beast's.

“Nick!” Dorothy shouted before blasting the monster with everything she had. Weakened, bleeding, and taken by surprise, the blast hit it square on. With a final, deafening shriek, the monster sizzled and faded into nothing.

Scarecrow staggered into the cleaning, holding his stuffing in place. “He did it. Nick shielded us long enough…” 

The Lion felt dizzy...and strange. His tawny fur was ripped bare in giant clumps, blood seeping from many cuts and wounds, covered mane to tail with green ichor. He limped badly, one of his forepaws dangling uselessly. Something inside was aching, and he didn't know what. It was like those half-remembered nightmares from when he was a cub, something about “big A” and “small a” animals; a place with cages, foul-smelling chemicals, sneering faces...some place he ran from, back into the woods, hiding and cringing when he smelled the fears or laughter of others from afar. He had accepted his fate until Dorothy and her friends neither laughed nor ran. With time and effort, he had stopped being so damn afraid of himself and acclimated to the emotional noise of being around others. 

“I cannot find Nick…” Lion said. “Cannot see him.”

Scarecrow was confused. “He’s right there, Lion. What do you mean -?”

They all looked at Nicholas, or what was left of him. There wasn’t an inch that wasn’t dented up, large gashes scoring his tin body everywhere, both legs hacked off above the knee, leaking oil and grease, water bleeding from his hydraulic joints.

“Nick!”

The three of them hovered over their battered companion, looking into his eyes, and listening for any sign of life. The first to moan with pain was the Lion, then Dorothy. The Scarecrow could only look at the empty shell of his dearest friend with numb shock and a brain that wasn't going to work.

Nicholas Chopper was dead.

An annual later, the grieving Empress Dorothy established a new honor guard for her realm, naming them the Order of Nicholas to honor her fallen friend. Colloquially, everyone called them “Tin Men.”


	2. Pfenix Flight

**Chapter 1**

**Pfenix Flight**

The moon had come around again since the Eclipse, one full month since the witch, whatever she was,

was banished for good. It still didn't mean the Outer Zone was at peace. Resistance cells and unrepentant Longcoats carved up territories for themselves while Ozma Galinda, the lavender-eyed queen, resumed an unsteady grip on the throne.

Fortunately, one of those Resistance cell territories that had already pledged loyalty to the Queen took Quadling Country as far south as the China Wall. There hadn't been time before, with the Longcoats on their trail and a quest to finish. Now that it was over, he had come to say a proper good-bye.

“They'd put us in Southstairs,” Jeb explained. “Told us you were dead. After I'd seen what was left of other men in Tin Suits, I believed them. We begged Zero to let you out so we could give you a...” Jeb swallowed. “A decent burial.”

The elder of the two men stood up, brushing dirt off his trousers. “I know. Even with the magic they've got on them, the point's to will yourself dead.” Wyatt Cain knew that all too well.

“What kept you alive?” Jeb said. He kept glancing from his father to the grave marker.

“Revenge,” he answered simply. “I'd like to say it was something noble, Jeb, but that was the truth. I thought you and you mother were gone.”

Jeb raised an eyebrow. “So, that's why you stuffed that witch-spawn in the Suit. Figures he didn't earn himself a fast death.”

The elder Cain wasn't going to say anything more on that for now. “So, Southstairs...” He'd sent men to Southstairs. It was a prison reserved for the worst of the worst, the closest one could get to hell without being dead. The Witch's reign wasn't the first time political opponents outnumbered the rapists and murderers.

Jeb shifted, rocking from foot to foot like he did when he was a small boy caught doing something he oughtn't. “Father, I don't know what she did or didn't do. I have my suspicions, but...” He sighed. “She managed to get herself working in the laundry, washing those long coats. She did it for months, watching the delivery trucks. I think she had some kind of deal cut with one of the drivers because he was talking to her a lot. Bastard was also smuggling poppy juice into the prison. Maybe Mother...I'm sorry. I don't know because I didn't want to know.”

It was what Jeb wasn't saying that hurt, cut deep into him. His boy looked a lot like her – wavy blond hair and hazel eyes with a smaller build than his. Again, Cain knew things about Southstairs, and what it usually took for a prisoner- especially a female prisoner with a child – to manage an escape from there. 

“But you can guess.”

Jeb's mouth became a narrow line. Cain suspected the same look was on his own face.

“We got bundled up with the laundry. The driver got her as far as here, dropped us off and fled. The place was a Resistance safe house, and Mother had already been doing work for them while in Southstairs.” Jeb knelt by the grave. “But she was sick by then. Something she caught in prison. Her stomach hurt and she couldn't even keep water down. When she wasn't sweating from fever, she was shaking with chills. She died less than a month after we got out.” Jeb sat on a stump. “On their next run, Ojo and his band took me in.”

“Ojo the Unlucky? Thought the man was dead after that botched raid in the Kells.”

Jeb smiled, despite the subject. “Change that to Ojo the Lucky after he chased off the garrison at Morrow to the south. Of course, his luck ran out a few years later in a Papay field. Being a full-blood Munchkin, he didn't have a chance.”

“And that's why you're running things.” Cain ran his fingers through his cropped hair, looking from the simple grave to his son. “Thanks for telling me.”

“No more of the past, Father. What are your plans for the future?”

Cain regarded his son with more than a little annoyance. “Don't know. You?”

Jeb shook his head. “Would have thought you'd be offered something. Escorting not just the Lost Princess through half the Outer Zone, but the Regent as well? Taking out the Sun Seeder?”

Cain's mouth was set in a narrow line. “I'm not going to become the royal family's idea of a charity case, Jeb. Mission was done, over with. Not sure the Regent would recognize me now that they've got his brain stitched together again. As for Princess Dorothy...” His voice trailed off. 

Since leaving the palace, he made a conscious effort to refer to her as that – Princess. That's how the common men of the Zone, common men like him, should see her. If he called her “DG,” then he'd just think of a girl with more heart than head, one who wore trousers and a jacket instead of gowns and jewels, one who charged into danger carrying a stick and lit the room when she smiled. “DG” was not the name you called a princess, so he wouldn't.

“That's all they were to you? An assignment?” Jeb was fishing, and Cain didn't like it a bit.

“I don't want to talk about that. What about you?”

Jeb studied his shoes. “Don't know either. Some groups are pledging loyalty to the House of Gale now that Ozma Galinda's back on the throne, others think Azkedellia's pulling another trick. Still others want the monarchy abolished altogether. Only thing that united us was hatred of _her_.”

In the trees, there was a glint of red – not the reddish brown of a normal forest creature or bird, but scarlet, like rubies taken flight. Light played off its flame-colored wings as it sat in the trees overlooking them. Neither of them could speak for a moment, dazzled by the sight.

A Pfenix was the rarest of birds in Oz, its iridescent plumage an unmistakable and breathtaking sight. No one ever saw a clutch of its eggs or nest, and the legends went that it would die only to birth itself again. The sight of one was considered a once in a lifetime event.

“Wow…That what I think it is?” Jeb was watching it, hazel eyes tracking it as it darted and soared among the trees, sunlight dancing off its feathers. “Mom told me once that the sight of a Phenix means the end of one life and the start of a new,” Jeb smiled and looked behind him. “And I’d like to believe she was right.”

Cain nodded. He wasn’t given to believing in things like that, but he’d humor the idea, watching the bird dart in the air like a living flame. It was gorgeous, almost out of place flying over a gravesite. Eternally renewing life…life from death…pretty concept. Too bad it wasn’t true.

The men watched it as it soared over their heads, finally vanishing into the setting suns. Cain clasped his son on the back.

“How's Anna?” He asked. During their too-brief reunion earlier, Jeb mentioned he had a girl – another Resistance fighter, the girl that helped take out the Longcoats during the raid. She’d been a Quadling farmer, her family eking out a living with hydroponic crops on the marshes until the family lands got seized.

Jeb smiled shyly. “She survived, so did I. Whatever future there is, I hope she's part of it.” 

A small nod. Cain looked down at his left hand and twisted off the silver ring he wore, placing it in Jeb’s palm. “For when you’re ready.”

“Father…” The kid was looking for tells. “I…I can’t take this.”

“You can and you will,” he said. No room to argue. “Best that goes to you, anyway.”

Jeb pocketed the ring, quietly looking on with concern. 

Truth was, Cain felt like a battered old man once it was all said and done. He supposed Ozma Galinda would reinstate the Tin Men or something like it, and he hoped to volunteer once that happened. Still, he was acutely aware of a world that really didn't need him anymore. The fewer loose ends he had hanging around, the better.

They heard the sound of hoof beats behind them and instinctively turned, hands on their pistols in case there was trouble. One of Jeb’s men came through the bush.

“Captain, and um…”

“Constable,” Jeb said.

“I’ve got a message sir, but it’s for Constable Cain. Sorry to bother you.”

“Out with it.”

The rider reached into his jacket and pulled out a sphere. They were recording devices – fancier than written words and requiring a lot of tik-tok that wasn’t in common use.

Cain accepted the sphere, and looked in its glass-like surface, sighing. Only three people would bother to contact him – and two, at least, would have access to a gizmo like this. 

He looked in and scowled. Out of the three, it was the least likely to send him much of anything.

“ _Friend Cain…”_ the message began in the Viewer’s fractured Common.

DG looked up from her sketchbook – a fancy thing of bound paper with an elegant cover of tooled leather. It was almost a shame to use up something so pretty, but Ahamo –

_Father. Remember, he’s “father,” now._ Shaking her head, DG picked up another charcoal crayon and tried to go back to sketching a throne room she no doubt would be spending a lot more of her life in.

The line wasn’t quite right, and the balance was off. She turned the drawing, trying to see if she miscalculated the vanishing point again. Sitting back in the chair and closing her eyes, she half expected to open them and hear her boss bitching at her for taking up valuable seat space, daydreaming on her coffee break.

“Princess?”

Opening them – nope. Still in the throne room. And it wasn’t a drunken customer trying to flirt, it was...

His tattered-up clothing had been replaced with an elegant waistcoat and suit that reminded DG vaguely of some misplaced nineteenth century poet. Of course, the scarf at his neck had come unknotted and one side of his shirt appeared to ride up higher than the other.

“Glitch? That really you?”

He seemed not to recognize her or the name for a few seconds, but she was already out of her seat, giving him a big hug. “I haven't seen you since your surgery!” When she noticed he wasn't hugging back, she stepped back, wary.

The zipper was still present. Maybe they didn't find a way around that. Other than that, his hair was neatly combed down, and there was a... well _prim_ look to him now. She'd been afraid of this possibility.

“Oops. Um...Ambrose, right?”

He still looked at her, and she realized that what she thought was offense was confusion. Nodding slowly, he looked her over crown to foot. “Great Lurline...I thought I'd forgotten. I can remember you as a little girl, sneaking into my lab with me late at night...and... and...” He blinked with amazement, the words almost a whisper as those dark eyes went inward. “So much to remember...”

“I'm grown up now.” She looked at the carpet.

“I know,” he said. “I remember that, too.” He scratched his hairline nervously, looking a bit like the Glitch she remembered. “I... I think I can remember it all now...well, eventually....”

There was an awkward silence until he reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, that manic smile lighting his face again. “Oh, Doll, it's so good to see you! How have you been?”

They hugged each other tightly, laughing. When they broke apart, she shook her head with amazement. “You look great, er...” She admitted sheepishly. “What should I call you?”

Gears seemed to be turning in his skull as he turned away from her, pacing the empty throne room. “Good question. A _very_ good question. Now, what was that answer...?” About halfway down the silver and green carpet, it seemed to come to him. “Oh, yes! I had a lot of time to sit in bed and think about this, after all. You'd think my marbles would be sharper now that they're back together.” He jogged up to her.

“Your mother's not going to do away with my title, it seems. So, people who don't know me at all are still going to have to call me 'Regent.' People who know me and not all that well can call me 'Ambrose,' I suppose. If it's good enough for the Queen? Well, it's good enough for anyone.” He paused and took DG's hand in his own. “However, the few who were friends, even when I was half out of my skull? Oh, please call me 'Glitch.' I'm a bit fond of that name.” 

She tried not to be too obvious in her relief, squeezing his hand. “How long has it been?”

“Since I got out of that mausoleum they call a hospital? Maybe a day or two. Oh, I know I must have been a fright that first week...”

“Fright” was putting it mildly. She had asked to see him when he first came to, and all he was able to do was stare, his eyes going two different directions, his left hand twitching like there were bugs crawling on it. One side of his mouth drooped. She stayed with him, though, at least until Ahamo... _Father_ – took her away, and then sent her to the Central City palace with Tutor. Sure, there were plenty of status reports, but...

That's when she noticed the glint of silver at Glitch's neck. “What's that? A medal?”

“No,” he admitted. “A souvenir. It seems that, like a china doll, a brain is never quite the same if it's been broken and put back together. It's a silver vial with some seizure medicine. I've also a bottle near my bed. A dram before going to sleep, and I should be fine.”

DG winced. _Damn it. The Outer Zone's broken. My sister may be herself again but wakes up shrieking at night. Cain can't leave fast enough, Raw runs off, and now Glitch..._

She didn't have time to dwell on it, as he swooped her up and started dancing with her in the throne room, gracefully leading her into a waltz, making her yelp with surprise before she started to laugh, trying to follow along and not step on his toes.

“Oh, I spent most of my convalescence wanting to do this!” He twirled her gracefully, grinning. “Some things come straight from the soul.”

“Like what?”

“Well, rhythm for one,” he teased.

“Um...Your Highnesses?” A nervous-looking guard was at the door, cutting their “dancing lesson” short.

Glitch assumed a formal posture and dignity – the Ambrose part of him taking command. “Well, come on in.”  
  


The guard approached, stroking his oiled, green beard (the ridiculous trend had come back into fashion) and reaching into his jacket. “It's a message sphere, addressed to you both.”

Glitch reached out and took the sphere, twirling it in his long fingers. “Shiny,” he said, dropping into his old persona for a moment before he cleared his throat and went all prim again. “Thank you,” he said in a manner that dismissed the guard. The green-whiskered man walked out of the room.

“What is that?” DG said, looking at it. From her perspective, it appeared to be a glass baseball with smoke trapped inside.

“Message sphere,” he explained. “Old technology – invented in your great-grandmother's time. It's not used much, as the recording devices are somewhat cumbersome. The TDESPHTL is something of an upgrade to it, playing the images out in front of you instead of having to look in this itty-bitty thing.”

DG tried not to think of the circumstances she saw that in action. Of course, if it had been Longcoats and not just some hellish illusion, she would have been dead. Glitch tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the sphere.

The smoke swirled around in the glass, forming into the image of Raw, the Viewer running a nervous paw through his fur.

“ _Friend DG and Friend Glitch...”_ The recording began. _“A full moon passes since Eclipse, and Kalm is home. Great debt owed to friends. Village wishes to see ones who stopped witch, want to rejoin world.”_ Raw hung his head, his mane obscuring his face for a moment before he looked into the recorder again. _“Raw also has news that must be shared, not in sphere. Ask friends to join Raw in village. Is...important. Sphere will show way.”_

The sphere flickered out, showing a map of the Outer Zone, and a hidden gully in the darker parts of Quadling Country as it flickered with red light, displaying coordinates to get to the location. Glitch cocked his head to one side to get a better look. “Interesting.”

“What's interesting about it?” DG asked.

“A Viewer Enclave. They can't normally be detected unless the Viewers want you to see it,” Glitch explained.

“Then how come the Witch -?”

“Oh, _you'll_ be able to see it. You're a sorceress. Just that the common human wouldn't be able to.”

“Would it be safe? To go, I mean?” She was hoping so. These halls were starting to resemble a well-appointed prison.

“Probably the safest place in the Outer Zone right now,” he said. “Viewers have to be very harsh on their own kind. A malicious Viewer can corrupt his whole tribe. Ones who fail are sent into exile and die from the shock of being left to their own minds.”

“Fail? Sent into exile?” DG tilted her head, trying to get a better look into the orb. “I wonder…”

As if picking up on her line of thought, Glitch waved her off. “Nonsense. Raw was probably just separated from his pack by the papay or a Longcoat raid.”

She shrugged. “He never said why he was alone out there.”

“Does it mean he helped us any less?”

“No,” she answered. “Probably doesn’t matter, anyway. He just looked awfully upset.”

He slipped the sphere into a pocket on the inside of his jacket. “Well, it just appears as though we’re going to have another adventure.”

“What about –? “

“Safest place in the Zone, remember? And it’s not like we can send a diplomat party. They asked for us and they won’t speak to anyone _but_ us.” He put his hands behind his back. “Don’t worry, I think it won’t be too much trouble convincing your mother to sneak out for a week, especially if you stick with me.”

“Really? What if we run into trouble on the way?”

He winked at her. “Doll, you haven’t seen _half_ my dance moves…”

The tree-village of his home was a bittersweet sight – sweet because of how dear it was to his heart, and bitter because he would not be able to stay. The veil parted for him because he was one of their kind, but as Raw’s heart reached out, there was no answer among them – no hero’s welcome. They knew he was here, but when they poked their noses out of their huts and looked up from their work, they were not sending out welcomes – only curiosity.

He avoided their gaze for the two days he was there, taking Kalm to the crèche and making certain that the young one would recover from the witch that rode another’s body. Kalm had not wanted Raw to leave, his young heart shining like garnets and reaching out for what his escort could not supply.

He had been about to leave when Growl, the one-who-speaks-to-others (those who spoke with words called him “Chief”) called him to his hut. Silently, Raw had done as he was bid.

Growl held out his large, gray paw, green eyes staring down the younger Viewer and brokering no argument. Raw sighed and held out his paw to Growl, the gray-furred Viewer taking it. Raw knew what he’d find, too.

Normally, when a Viewer came into full maturity, there was a critical window where they bound to others of their tribe. They would be sent on the ritual hunt with others who had reached the same crisis point in their lives, and their hearts would connect, forming something that had no translation in Common. Human hearts were blind to the extent that they hadn’t the concept.

Those who had committed grievous sins against the tribe or had failed their training were not sent to the hunt. They were cast out to the forest, waiting for the window to pass. A Viewer unable to control his emotions endangered the whole. If the bonding time passed and they were alone, then alone they’d stay. They would never anchor to others, blind and trapped in their own hearts. In such a case, they would die quickly, but painfully. It was a harsh, but necessary, punishment.

For the sin of cowardice, for fleeing when his would-have-been pack made a futile stand against the Longcoats, Raw had sealed his fate. He was supposed to retreat into the woods with only his shame for companionship, the critical period passing, and ending with his death.

But as Growl searched, he saw that line coming from Raw’s heart, a blood red line like ruby lightning. It connected not to other lines of red, but to lines of sun-yellow, a slate blue like light through storm clouds, and to a bright emerald green.

“Raw bound to humans,” Growl was pensive, uncertain what to make of this development.

“Yes,” Raw admitted. “Aided them.”

“Heard about Witch’s defeat. Knew Viewer walked among them. Believed not that it was you.” Growl looked him over. “Grown in strength, in courage, but fate not among us…” Shaking his head, the beads braided into his mane clattering against one another, he let go of Raw’s paw and shook his head. “Why?”

“Save me from papay. Owed them debt. Did not expect to live.”

“Cannot return to us. Not to stay.”

“Raw know.”

That’s when Growl had broken out the sphere recorder and all but demanded Raw send the messages to the humans, summoning them here so that the tribe could see them for themselves. There was nothing to be done but wait now. 

What solved one trouble only brought another. There were worse fates, he supposed, than being heart-bonded to three humans. The hardest part would be finding a way to tell them in a way their blind hearts would be able to understand.


	3. A Rocky Reunion

**Chapter 2**

**A Rocky Reunion**

The only things to Cain's name were a bedroll, a pack of supplies, and a dapple-gray mare. They were once the property of a Resistance scout that got killed in the battle for the tower. No one needed the supplies or the horse, so Jeb insisted his father not leave empty handed.

Cain wasn't even sure why he was riding out to the Viewer Enclave, following the map in the sphere. Maybe it was because he thought he owed the Viewer on some level, but if he were honest with himself, Cain would admit that he didn't have anywhere else to go. As he crested one of the foothills in the surrounding area, the air rippled like a mirage, the illusion of nothing more than an inhospitable swamp giving way to a vast grove of huge trees, their trunks and lower branches thick enough to support a network of walkways and vine bridges, the village sitting above the swamp's muck.

Amazing. He had never seen a Viewer Enclave before. He knew the Eastern Guild had taken over one that had been “cleansed” by Longcoats, but to see the illusion part for him – a human, an outsider – was astonishing. Wary by nature, he rode up to the largest gate and secured the horse.

“Friend Cain.”

Cain almost jumped out of his skin – he hated being sneaked up on, and it was the rare being that could manage it.

“Raw,” he said, addressing the tawny-furred Viewer that had surprised him. He pulled the sphere out of his jacket. “Got your invite. What is this about?”

Raw cocked his head to one side and took Cain's left hand, looking it over. “Cain go to see mate?”

“My _wife's_ grave, actually,” he said, and it came out shorter than he wanted. “And Jeb, too. He's doing well for himself.”

Raw let go of Cain's hand. He knew humans were uncomfortable with his kind's ability to see hearts, and Cain was guarded, even for a human. Raw could not pretend to understand it. Looking at Cain was like seeing someone with a grievous injury shuffle about and pretend he was fine.

“Raw bring friends here. Witch left wounds. Wounds must heal.”

“There's a lot you can't heal, Raw,” Cain said, broadcasting reassurance, but there was cold, blue resignation under it.

As Raw guided Cain towards the ladders leading up to the branchpaths, he reached with his heart, trying to touch the blue aura around his friend. He hoped he could help somewhat without Cain noticing what he was doing. They made short work of the ladders and Raw resisted the urge to take Cain's hand and lead him (why were humans, and this human especially, so uncomfortable with that?), instead motioning for him to follow.

“Still not sure why you called me here,” Cain said skeptically. “I can't quite believe the idea you're hauling a sphere out and everything just so I can have a vacation.”

“Glitch and DG coming, too,” Raw answered, and once again felt the slate-blue aura around Cain flicker with discomfort.

“Not likely. Aristocrats and all. They've got duties, palaces...they can't be wasting time with -”

Raw rolled his eyes, a human gesture he had picked up from DG, and pointed to the skies. An airship was approaching the Enclave.

“Well, I'll be a flying monkey...” Cain said.

Normally, a royal airship would have the flag of Oz painted on the airbag – the four colors and its green star in the center representing the four provinces and the Central City. However, there was still unrest, so this airship had a plain appearance, painted grayish-white to look like it was a moving cloud.

Since Oz was surrounded by corrosive deserts, travel by air or magic were the only ways one could enter or leave the kingdom. The airship was an improvement over the simple hot air balloons that had brought the occasional Slipper, including the current Consort. It was a small one, a three-meter cabin attached to the engine room just big enough for its two passengers. Direction was controlled by use of rudders and fins attached to the gigantic airbag above. DG likened it to a craft on the Other Side called a “blimp” or “zeppelin.” However, the alchemical properties of the engine's metals split water atoms into oxygen for the cabin and hydrogen for the airbag.

Glitch operated it like he had been at the controls of one all his life. There were moments where he would “zone out” or forget what he was doing for a moment until reminded, and he hardly minded it. Most of the time, he was telling DG how it worked.

“Sometimes, I'd be using these for atmospheric research or some-such,” he said. “The small ones anyway. The larger ones require a crew of twenty or more to fly, and those are for diplomatic missions or the handling of delicate freight.”

DG sat on the cargo container and looked at the sphere resting on the control panel. It was flickering slower, staying mostly red. “I wonder if I can learn to fly one of these. Might be useful...well, you know.”

Glitch turned around. “Speaking of learning, I've heard Tutor was keeping you busy.”

DG groaned. “It's making me remember why I dropped out of school back on the Other Side. I hate being cooped up. I mean, the information's useful, and I know I'm royalty...” She dropped her voice and hoped his ears wouldn't pick up the “Even if it doesn't seem real sometimes.”

He whipped around with this astonished and unhappy look that reminded her of dad... _nurture unit's..._ look when he found that bag of pot under her bed. “What do you mean you _quit school_?”

Shit. Time to 'fess up. “Back on the Other Side, I... I made some bad choices, okay? There was a period where I was going the wrong way. I was pulling myself out when that storm hit.”

He was still trying to form words. “Still, education is _everything_. If you don't have it, how can you understand -”

“I said that it was a bad choice, Glitch,” she argued. “Look, I went back. I got a GED and was studying art and auto repair because I didn't know I'd end up here.”

He shook his head. “I still can't believe -”

“Drop it,” she said, anger starting to build. “Just...okay? I'm taking my classes and trying to catch up on fifteen years – annuals – that I missed out on.”

He looked like he was still going to ask questions when he saw the sphere turn a solid red. Saved by the proverbial bell. “Looks like we're here. We just need to find a spot to land.”

He maneuvered it into a clearing about a mile from the Enclave as they took their packs, disembarked, and walked the rest of the way.

“It looks like the place the Technicolor turkeys used as a base.”

“That's because it was. The Witch had it in for Viewers, going through a lot of them to find the Emerald or because they were probably the only ones in the Outer Zone who could tell that your sister was being skin-ridden by that creature. The Eastern Guild moved into one that had been abandoned...or worse.” 

A Viewer was approaching them, not Raw, but another. Beads of amber, stone, and wood were elaborately braided into his long, gray fur, and he walked slowly, leaning on an intricately carved staff. He stopped before them.

“Sensed your arrival. Had to see with own eyes what you were.”

DG put out her hand. “Um...hello. I'm...”

The Viewer took her hand, and she could feel his presence ghosting across her mind, like a cold shiver, like when Raw gripped her hand after they'd run from the Papay. She could sense something else, too – magic. This one was a sorcerer as well as a “normal” empath and healer.

When he was satisfied, he let go and bowed respectfully. “Growl is honored, Princess. I am one who speaks for my tribe, as you are speaker for your tribe.” He regarded Glitch with curiosity and put out his paw. Glitch shuffled his feet, looking a little daunted by the idea, but put his own hand out. Growl took it and read for a moment before letting go.

“Two minds, one body?”

“Sort of,” Glitch admitted, pointing to the zipper that still parted his head. “The Witch separated my brain for a while, but my marbles are back where they belong. Ha ha.”

Growl seemed to be thinking something over before he beckoned for them to follow. “Raw is with other of your pack. Human man with pale fur and wounded heart.”

“Uh, yeah. That would be Cain,” Glitch said before following Growl, DG a step behind them both.

The village itself was several meters above the ground, rounded huts made of wood with thatch roofs that wrapped around the trunks of the massive trees. They passed a weaving hut where three Viewers – two females and a male – were at work making a thick tapestry of earth tones, working with an eerie precision and harmony. Other workshops made pottery, or carved wood. Otherwise, the stocky, furred beings walked about, or sat outside their huts doing their chores. They spared the occasional look at the visitors, sometimes brushing up against them for a quick read.

What creeped DG out about the village was the silence. There were hardly any words spoken. _“We do not need to speak as you do”_ Growl had explained simply as he led them. She guessed it would make sense.

“Raw mentioned something about your people wanting to 'rejoin the world,'” DG asked. “What do you mean by that?”

“When hunted, we could not walk free among humans. With Witch gone, we are not hunted. Require assurance that humankind are friends once more.”

“And how can we help that?” she asked.

“For a few days, stay with us. Work with us. Observe our ways and we will observe yours. Then, we decide if we can part the veil.”

“How did your people come to be here, Growl?” she asked.

The gray-furred Viewer turned around and took her hand, and she gasped, the unfamiliar sensation of magic-induced visions on her mind's eye still disconcerting.

_She saw a woman with red-gold hair, and with a bearing and grace that reminded her of Azkedellia. DG recalled her name from the many royal portraits—Ozma Tippetarius Upon looking closer, DG could see that the woman was indeed quite young, but that the ravages of illness made her seem much older. Sitting by her bed was..._

_DG gasped. It was quite obviously her ancestor and namesake. There was a swell on her belly indicating that she was pregnant – probably with her grandmother._

_The door opened and three Animals walked in – a Lion with gentle eyes like Raw's, a massive Tiger, and an aged little terrier. The dying woman raised her feeble arm, and petted each in turn. She turned to Dorothy, smiled, and squeezed the other woman's hand weakly. Her eyes slipping closed for a last time, a glittering aura of gold and green fell over those closest to her bed._

_When the light faded, Ozma Tippetarius was dead. There was a wizened man where the Dog stood. The Tiger was something that looked like a massive, extraordinarily strong humanoid – Tony the Tiger on steroids—and the Lion had become a Viewer._

The vision ended abruptly, and the shock of returning to the presence was like being hit with a blast of cold air. She looked between Growl and Glitch, shaking her head. “I remember Tutor saying something about Animals – the sentient kind—how they were all shape-changers now, like him.”

“Oh, Tutor is definitely a Dog,” Glitch pointed out. “And things haven't always been kind to the sapient beasts. That's why Ozma Tippetarius, on her deathbed, finished the task Lurline started...well, if you're a believer in the old legends. Either way, Animals got the ability to go between two and four legs, save the Lions and Tigers.”

“So, I saw,” DG said. “But I didn't recognize the Tiger.”

Growl smiled. “Hungry Tiger. Great friend to Lion. Cousins to our tribe, his tribe became. Seekers to Viewers.”

“Seekers?” DG apologized. “Sorry, there's still a lot I...”

Growl smiled. “See it in your heart. Past the deserts and oceans, you were exiled.”

DG scowled at the term, but supposed “exile” was as good a description as any. “Where are you taking us?”

“To the hut built for your pack,” Growl answered simply. “Tied you are to one called Raw.”

“Wait a minute,” Glitch said. “What do you mean, 'pack?' I don't know much about Viewers – just what was in the archive, but...”

“Raw has human pack,” Growl said simply, approaching a newly built hut on the far edge of the settlement and stopping at the door. Without so much as a knock, Raw opened it, already smiling and joyful at the sight of his friends.

The hut was like the others – circular with a thatched roof. The only furnishings in it were a large wood box by the door, a table carved from a tree stump, surrounded by four cushions made of soft hide, stuffed with feathers, and the four hammocks hanging from the walls. In one of them, a familiar face was already dozing, fedora tilted over his eyes. The sound of human footsteps startled him awake, and he rolled out of the hammock to stand at attention.

“Sleeping on duty, Constable Cain?” Glitch teased gently.

“Long, hard ride to get here,” Raw said. “Cain needed rest.”

“Just a wink,” Cain said. He cleared his throat, looking them over. “Good afternoon...um...Your Highness....m'lord...”

DG bristled. That title was a lot like a ceremonial gown – something she only wore if she had to. Hearing it come out of Cain didn't seem right, especially since she was in a workman's coverall (she preferred those, much to her mother's dismay and father's amusement), the only nod to her rank being the gold and emerald signet ring on her right hand. Fortunately, Glitch was quicker with his wits.

“We've been through too much together to stand on ceremony, don't you think?” He smiled brightly and clasped Cain on the back. “And you should know better than to lock your knees. You'll faint that way.”

Blue eyes narrowed. “I heard your brain's back where it belongs, Regent.”

Glitch's thin hand waved dismissively. “As I explained to DG earlier, only people who don't know me can call me that. You were a good man and a good friend, even when I was half out of my mind. I insist, please, call me 'Glitch.'”

This was getting decidedly...awkward, DG decided, and sat on one of the hammocks. “So, Raw...Mr. Cain...what have you guys been up to?”

Cain shrugged. He was still nervous. “Visiting Jeb. Spending some time at Adora's grave. Nothing much.”

“You left so fast after the Eclipse,” Glitch said. “We were worried about you.”

“You had bigger things to worry about,” Cain said. “I figured I could be of help to some of the former Resistance men taking down pockets of Longcoats that didn't surrender when your sister gave the stand down order.”

DG looked up. “Az is still under house arrest. At least until we can prove possession, and even then...” She sighed. “It's not easy.”

“Your mother designate you as the heir, then?”

“Not yet,” DG said, the wood grain of the floor suddenly becoming fascinating. “She still might. I'm mostly busy with Tutor and studies, trying to catch up on all that I missed.”

“Well, all else fails, and they put me on the throne,” Glitch said nervously. “Not like I'd want it, especially since my synapses still misfire on occasion.” He opened his carpetbag and placed his medicine on the table – an oily-looking red substance that reminded DG of spent transmission fluid.

“What's that for?” Cain asked.

“Preventing seizures,” Glitch explained. “Side effect of having my brains stitched back together. It's a full bottle, enough for a week or two.”

“Seizures?” Cain's eyebrows almost met his hairline. “You sure you ought -”

“Really, Cain. It doesn't mean I'm a cripple. It just means that I have to take medicine before I sleep is all.”

“Raw glad to see.” The Viewer's soft-spoken voice hushed the room, as he touched them each in turn. 

Raw gathered their impressions. They were all somewhat tired and nervous, and while the humans seemed to make a great issue of Glitch's mind, the twitchy man's soul, flickering like a bright yellow light to Raw's sight, had changed little. The storm had passed, but there were still many broken timbers, both in the land and within them. They sniffed about each other, not as the bond-mates they were during their journey, but almost as strangers getting to know another again.

He could only hope that he could make things a little easier for them to see. “We...we are pack.”

“A pack?” Glitch said. “Growl mentioned something like that, but how can we be a pack, Raw? Packs are a family of Viewers, aren't they?”

“With humans, pack is by shared blood. Viewer pack is of shared heart.”

“Shared heart?” DG asked. Looking at her was like seeing sunlight through a polished emerald – such a brilliant green as to dazzle. “You mean, the four of us share...Does that mean you think of us as family, Raw?”

Raw shook his head, his mane obscuring his face. “Not family as humans know. Family as Viewers know.”

“I'm not sure I like the sound of this.” Cain remarked suspiciously, the slate blue of his aura darkening to nearly gray.

“Four as one.” He almost lost his nerve at that moment but decided he would have to proceed. “Raw show.”

He opened the large box, a footlocker for whatever supplies were needed in the hut, and pulled out a sphere, like the one he used to summon them to the Enclave.

The reflective surface of the empty sphere would do well enough for the task, Raw supposed. He held out one paw to his human friends in silent invitation. DG was the first to grasp on, Glitch layering his hand over theirs. Cain, reluctantly, topped them with his own.

Raw concentrated, sending the image forward. In his other paw, the sphere flickered and glowed, coming to life under his touch, allowing the humans to see themselves and the connection, the binding. They would see the red light that came out of Raw split into three directions, flowing into their hearts. And from their own hearts, the green and gold and blue would flow into his. It was only truth that he showed, for Viewers didn't know how to lie. 

He hoped, he waited.

And that's when it hit him like a fist. Fear, primarily. There was amazement and curiosity, mostly from Glitch's direction, but even the twitchy man was frightened. DG was almost paralyzed with shock. Cain broadcast loudest. Fear, outrage, a feeling of invasion. He yanked his hand back like it was on fire, stepping backwards and breaking the connection so fast that Raw dropped the sphere. It shattered on the floor with a noise not unlike that inside his head.

“What is the meaning of this, Raw?!” Cain bellowed. Anger was in his voice, but terror...so much terror within.

“Cain, damn it! Cain!” Glitch put himself between Cain and Raw, trying to keep order.

“Guys! Hold it, guys...” DG was trying to shout above the chaos, and it wasn't working.

“The hell did he do to us?” Cain was blazing with fury and fear. 

“I... I don't know,” Glitch said. “But...but just calm down a moment. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable -”

DG was looking at her hand, rubbing an invisible scar. “It's...it's not what it looks like, is it?”

If Raw thought human squabbling was bad before, he wasn't prepared for this kind of backlash now. He leaned against the wall, cringing with every blow of fear and anger that pounded him.

“It's magic, isn't it?” DG managed to whisper. “Magic...the four of us...”

Gathering as much strength as he could, Raw nodded.

“There's got to be a way to break this,” Cain said. “Cut the line.”

Cut the line? Raw shook his furry head. No, there was no way to undo what was done. Why were they all so scared? He tried to show them what it meant, and they all could not _see_... Ruefully, Raw put his head in his paws, moaning with the pain. What had he done?

Cain said bitterly, “I'll be anywhere but here.” Holstering his pistol, he stormed out and into the night.

Glitch was on his heels, shouting after him. “I know it's hard, Cain, but would you please not be a jackass for once?”

The door slammed behind them, and Raw looked fruitlessly up to DG, reaching across the emerald line. She was still staring at him with shock.

“I'm sorry,” she said. She touched his shoulder with her shaking hand for a moment, and then she was also gone.

Raw looked at the shattered crystal at his feet and sank to his knees.

Cain managed to lose Glitch, but still wasn't in the clear, because he heard DG running after him.

“Cain, come on.”

He pretended not to hear her as he continued walking towards the place where he had hitched his horse – a paddock of sorts on the ground, next to a smokehouse and a blacksmith's shop, both of which had Viewers and the odd orange-furred Seeker about. He clambered down the ladder, but DG just used the next one down, catching up with him as he made for his horse, and taking his arm.

He looked at her, and couldn't move a step further, his stomach suddenly plunging to his feet. He had spent a lot of time and effort to try and push past that week of racing around the Outer Zone, telling himself he wouldn't see any of them again, and now...

Cain was a career lawman, and a Resistance soldier after that. He knew people had to lean on each other when they were in the trenches. How ties formed quickly because they had to. Missions and wars ended, though. The ties faded, people became memories.

One good look at his former companions, and all that careful work he had done fell like a house of cards. Cain remembered now the real reason he had to put as much distance as he could between them. He even hoped for a moment that the Regent would insist on rank or “Ambrose,” but those were shot down the instant “call me Glitch” came out of his mouth. It was like only a day had passed, not a month. It was like nothing had changed when everything had.

“Why did I come out here?” he asked, mostly to himself, but somewhat to DG.

“If it makes you feel any better, I'm glad to see you. I'm glad to see you're still alive and okay.”

“You've got a throne to worry about, Princess,” he reminded her. “Don't waste a thought on a battered old man like me.”

“You're hardly old,” she said.

He couldn't help a smile. “My son's an annual older than you.”

“Cain,” she told him quietly. “I've thought about you every day since you left. I never thought of you as old or battered.”

“I am,” he admitted. “And I know that week was...intense. Bonds form quick under times like those, but things fade with time. People go their separate ways.” His jaw tightened. “And Raw went against that. He had no right to.”

“From what it looks like, all it means he thinks of us as his family,” she said. She had that look – like she wanted to believe a simple answer that made sense to Other Side logic, even when she knew it wasn't the way the Outer Zone worked.

“You know that's not the case. I saw your face when you realized it for what it was. It's magic. We're all bound to each other now by it. Means Raw took a part out of each of us and put a bit of himself there in exchange without us knowing or agreeing to it.”

“I could sense that, yeah. I'm just not sure what it means. Tutor didn't know much about Viewers, and he was more interested in showing me the _Oziad_ and the history of every Ozma that's ever ruled.”

“Princess,” he said. “I stayed because I promised the Mystic Man I would keep you safe. I'm not saying I regret it a bit...”

“I know the 'but' is coming.” She pulled her hand off his arm and shoved it in her pocket. “That's all it was for you?”

It was bad enough coming from Jeb, but from _her_? “I won't lie to you. That's what it was supposed to be. That's why I left as soon as I knew you were going to be all right.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh.”

He'd let her down easy, so why did he feel like he'd taken a punch to the chest? Must be that binding. He realized his hand was on her shoulder and pulled it away fast. “Maybe Raw meant well at the time, or something, but it doesn't change the fact that Viewers deal in memory and emotion much differently.” He looked at DG again and knew the look of wide-eyed incomprehension on her face all too well. Damn, she still didn't understand, and he hadn't the ability with words needed to explain it. ”What I'm saying is that this bond he put on us could have invented feelings that weren't really there, got us to feel things for one another without it being real.”

She opened her eyes and rubbed them with her sleeve, trying to pretend it was the chill in the air. “It's getting dark. You sure you want to travel, Mr. Cain?”

He looked up at the sky and saw the suns had set, cursing his bad timing.

“There's some hammocks. You could at least sleep here. Take off in the morning,” she suggested.

He looked at the horse, and over at the tack shed, then nodded, and walked with DG back to the hut.

She tried to relax in the hammock. Being lighter than the men, she slept in one of the top ones, above Raw. Cain claimed the other bottom one while Glitch sprawled in the top one opposite hers.

She remembered the first night they all made camp, her leather jacket passing as a pillow, and hoping she would wake up and it would all be one of those dreams brought on by falling asleep in a textbook or eating too much of Carter's cooking after her shift.

The night Cain and Glitch broke her out of the Witch's prison, she had stopped having nightmares by listening to the light snoring of the men. Even more of a comfort was that sometime in the night, after Cain took watch, he had covered her with his duster. That small gesture did more than anything to help.

That's what it was supposed to be. Just a job, just a duty. Maybe he was right. Cain was often right about a lot of things, and she never once knew him to talk in riddles of half-truths, and that was more than she could say for most anyone else in Oz.

Then why was it hurting so much? And why...

She tossed and turned. Her body was tired, but her mind was still racing.

Back in Kansas, she was the odd one out – the loner. She got teased, so she learned to be sarcastic and how to throw a punch. By the time she got to high school, she ended up hanging out with a fringe crowd – one that was trying to escape in one fashion or another. Most came from homes full of violence, drug addiction, the grind of rural poverty, or all the above.

She put her efforts into trying to lose herself, escape, during those times. Marijuana would make her giggly and forgetful. Southern Comfort dulled the ache and her feelings, leaving her pleasantly warm. Sex was the best escape of all. Rolling around in a back seat or in the hay with one boyfriend or another, hearing whispered promises that she knew wouldn't last the night, but felt good anyway. It wasn't really love. It was just another way to forget. She wanted to love, wanted it so much...but “love” and “home” were two things she knew she wasn't going to find on her side. She had given up on the idea.

All she knew is that what she felt for the three men was nothing like she had felt for anyone else. It was so sudden and intense that it almost hurt. The magic had been awakening in her from the day she set foot in the Zone, well before she was aware of it. And it wasn't like Glitch, or Cain, or Raw _had_ to stick by her that week. They could have high-tailed it at any point. It was her fault, after all, that they had suffered – their whole land had. While she was living a normal Kansas life, and trying to party herself numb, they were living in hell.

_Invented feelings that weren't really there, got us to feel things for one another without it being real._ Cain warned her. And she could see in her mind's eye, the exact thing Raw was showing; red light from Raw, bright gold-yellow for Glitch. Cain was the color of strong sunlight through storm clouds – an intense blue-gray. Her own heart was green, like the Emerald of the Eclipse. She could sense the bond and the lines connecting them now that they were all together, but why were they bound? How?

Reaching across the lines, she shivered hard, the half-imagined metallic tang in her mouth giving her the answer. _Magic. Did I have a hand in this? Because I needed them, I might have done it without knowing...If there wasn't this bond, if I weren't a mage and a Princess, would they have cared for me?_

The very thought chilled her more than anything the Witch could devise.

* * *

Under the light of the moon, another pack waited. They could feel the dark magic, the taint that had been there since the time of their grandparents – of beings in conflict.

They were five – four Viewers and a Seeker. The Seeker stood out by her orange and black fur and muscular build. She could feel their pull on her – the window of their binding time reaching its zenith, their abilities and hearts becoming joined.

She heard their drums and their chants, low over the field as they set their lanterns, full of honey and contently-feeding lux-flies. Readying her spear, the Seeker waited. Her great physical prowess and the visions common to her kind had led her here. Viewers looked inward. Seekers looked outward, guided by their precognition and hungry for adventure. She sensed her destiny was upon her but did not know the shape it would take.

The air seemed to bend and twist as black smoke appeared, taking shape into a beast's form.

She remembered that she must be calm, cool...that the apparition only grew stronger with the darkness that rested in the heart.

The beast took final shape – covered in fur as black as its heart, spines down its back and a mouth full of razor teeth. It was the size of a wagon, and its long tail ended with sharp spikes. Its orange-red eyes glowed like a brush fire.

The Kolas! This was the ritual beast – a ghostly abomination from the time of her ancestors? She breathed, keeping a grip on her spear.

Letting out a howl that sounded like the shriek of demons, it charged.

She felt the strength of her pack flow through her – the trained emotions steadying her and her weapon. She would not flee. She was ready for her destiny.

The Seeker narrowly dodged the charge, swiping back with her spear. It scored the hide of the beast, but only left a thin trickle of ichor behind. It gave a horrible roar and reared on its back legs. 

Lines of blood red encircled the clearing as the chants from her pack-mates grew louder. She felt their strength pour into her as their life-force merged with hers, readying her when the beast made another run. She stepped aside at the last second and scored a direct hit! The spear sunk deep into the beast's hide and snapped apart, the Kolas roaring and rearing up on its back legs. The Seeker was thrown back by the impact, the wind knocked out of her.

The chanting grew louder as the Viewers sent their strength into her, but it did not help the fact that her weapon was useless now. She staggered to her feet just in time for the horrid beast rip the remains of her spear from its side. It bled copiously, the green slime dripping down its hide and onto the grass where it sizzled like acid.

Thirsty for blood, it ran for the outer edges of the ritual circle, towards the youngest male Viewer who was struggling mightily to hold the beast to the grove. The Seeker saw this and tried to stop it, running up to the beast, but it was too late! The Kolas smacked the Viewer with its massive paw, sending him flying into a tree. He slid down the trunk, his spine bending unnaturally in several places. The ritual circle was now broken, and the Seeker made a desperate charge. 

The Kolas swatted the Seeker with its tail, the spiked gouging her side, then pinned her with its massive paws. Claws out, and her body aching horribly, she attempted to scratch the beast, to use anything in order to fight it. It was too much – too strong! The last thing she knew as its jagged teeth sunk into her throat was the shriek of her comrades.

**Author's Note:**

> Blame the Comet Channel for giving me the push to start posting. They showed all three parts (but with a horrible hatchet job on the commercial breaks). I have the first two chapters of this in the hopper and maybe working on something new will help the writers' block


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